


Harry Potter: Veilwalker

by WhittleAway



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aromantic Asexual Harry Potter, But not for the normal reasons, Dark-ish Harry Potter, Gen, Harry Potter accidentally breaches the veil oops, Harry Potter for Dark Lord, Hufflepuff Harry Potter, I Do Not Have The Books Or Movies As A Reference, Powerful Harry Potter, anyways don't mind my attempts to be edgy i know its bad, bro these tags..., i guess, if only there wasn't such a stigma smh my head, obvously that doesn't even matter until later but
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28561806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhittleAway/pseuds/WhittleAway
Summary: Harry Potter, except he's in Hufflepuff. But only because of his loyalty to his cause and working spirit, which is going toward taking over Magical Britain because he got annoyed with it.And he's kind of prematurely Master of Death, except not really. He can just fall through the veil sometimes. You know, as one does.
Comments: 24
Kudos: 67





	1. Black Glass

**Author's Note:**

> uh. oops?
> 
> I can't even remember half the details of the Harry Potter universe and I am limited to the wiki and memory.

Harry Potter was six years old. He found this to be a very old age indeed. In his mind, he should have logically been a grownup. Harry just _knew_ that he should be allowed to do grownup stuff at such an old, old age. 

It didn’t seem like he should still be cleaning and cooking for his Relatives, Not Family. As far as he could tell, this was not something grownups had to do. 

It also wasn’t fair that Dudley had gotten to be a grownup so early. He _never_ had to do kid stuff like sleeping in tiny places and doing work. He also got all the food he wanted just like a grownup. Harry wasn’t allowed to be better than Dudley, either. Kids weren’t allowed to be better than grownups, so this just further proved it. If he was better than someone, they got angry and hurt him. People also hurt him when he did anything freakish. So, Harry just made sure he wasn’t any better than anyone and tried not to be freakish.

This was usually very easy. All he had to do was pretend he didn’t know things and hide a lot, especially when he read books (well, he couldn’t actually read all of the words). Harry still hadn’t figured out why books were bad, but he knew they were. Books were fun, though, so sometimes he stole them from the school library to read. He _always_ took them back. Except for the time his Uncle burned one. He felt bad about that for a while.

The other kids at school didn’t like him at all. It’s fine, though, since he didn’t like them much either. The teachers usually tolerated him, but they didn't help him like they said they would. This is one of his most hated things.

The other kids didn’t ever seem as hungry as he was. This got Harry thinking.. but not too much. Days went on.

Harry came across the books about Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn in the school library at age eight. They resided in the very back with the old books. He thought a lot of the things in the book were just grand. He thought maybe he might run off on his own, one day. Then he could do what he wanted and be a Grownup.

* * *

One day, at age nine, when Harry got home, he finished all of his chores and went right to his cupboard. This was so very out of character that it caused his relatives to forget the lock. Or at least, that is what he assumed happened. They didn’t need to drag him by the shirt cuff, toss him in, and slam the door shut that night.

Once the light under the crack of the door went dark, he waited for as long as his patience allowed. For a nine-year-old, this ended up being surprisingly long.

Harry stood up as much as he could in the tiny cupboard. He silently opened the door and slipped out. He very slowly stepped toward Dudley’s room. Harry thought maybe he took a step every fifteen seconds. He didn’t have a clock to confirm this. Nor did he really want to.

When he reached the room, Dudley was snoring loudly. The small light that he was usually envious of was now very helpful. 

Harry silently cheered at the easy sound cover and walked nearly normally to the dresser. Dudley was not very organized and always kept money strewn all over his dresser.

Harry grabbed a wad of pounds and stuffed them in his pocket. He then quickly left the room to the kitchen.

He very briefly looked around for anything else to bring, but he heard the floor creak somewhere.

Within a few seconds, Harry was gone.

* * *

Harry walked down dark streets illuminated only by orange street lamps. Each only lit about a 4 meter radius, and they were too sparse to actually help in any way. The beams of light were visible in the fine mist falling from above.

He kept going, watching his feet take step after step on the damp asphalt. His feet made barely audible clicks on the wet road.

“Hey, kid. What’re you doing out here?”

Harry was startled by a man standing by the curb of the road. He was mostly concealed by the night, but Harry could tell he was clean-shaven and quite tall. He wore a brown overcoat and what appeared to be dress pants. Harry stopped and straightened, shuffling his feet a bit.

Harry stuttered, “Um. I-I’ve run away.”

The man blinked at him and lit a cigarette before sticking it in his mouth, “Ah, I dunno if that’s something someone your age should be doing.”

The dim orange glow illuminated his expression. It was not especially friendly. Harry was only a bit worried that he might get mad easily.

“Well, I am,” He retorted. He didn’t think he liked this stranger telling him what to do.

“Suit yourself,” the man shrugged and continued to smoke by the curb.

Now Harry was thrown off. The man didn’t seem like he’d make him stop running away. Harry lingered a bit, unsure if he wanted to leave this relatively nice man for the inky blackness ahead. They stood in silence for a few minutes. Harry looked around awkwardly.

The man heaved a sigh and put the cigarette out on something unseen. He held the butt in his hand, still, and turned to Harry. “Are you going to stay here, or…?” He prompted.

Harry meekly asked, “Can I?”

The man slowly blinked at him before shrugging again, “As I said: suit yourself.”

Harry moved to the curb and sat a fair ways away from the man so as to not disturb him. He felt the dampness immediately creep through his clothes, but continued sitting. Again, silence fell over them. Harry only heard the occasional lighting of a cigarette or the rustle of clothing. He stared out into the pitch black and watched as his vision created moving things from nothing.

In his boredom, he began to try to make them do things. Oftentimes, he’d do this in the lightless confines of his Cupboard. And do things they did. One tall, spindly thing moved as if on stilts. It seemed unsteady and yet perfectly balanced, rocking back and forth with each new step. It could perhaps be likened to a stick bug. Another creature like a centipede skittered about between the other formless blobs. A small black snake with glowing green eyes moved around below them all.

It, unlike the others, approached him.

::Oh!:: Harry whispered in shock.

The snake looked at him more directly, as if surprised, ::Greetingss.::

::You can talk?:: He asked, quietly, quite shocked.

The snake curled up about a meter from him, flicking its tongue rapidly, ::Yess, but you can too?::

Harry shook his head, wet hair stinging where it slapped his face, ::No, no, no, mosst ssnakess don’t talk!::

Almost as if amused, the snake wriggled, ::All ssnakess talk. No humanss talk. Why can you?::

Something occurred to Harry. Was he still speaking English? If not, how?

::I...don’t know. You aren’t sspeaking Englissh?:: he asked.

The snake’s form shuddered, tendrils of shadow lazily trailing away from where they ought to be, ::Englissh? No.::

Harry was getting concerned. He knew human brains made up creatures to see in the dark, but he never heard of them interacting. This snake was clearly no ordinary snake. Then there was the fact that he was not speaking English. Yet another freakish thing.

::How are you made of sshadowss?:: Harry inquired. 

::I do not belong here. You brought me,:: it replied, green eyes unchanging.

This didn’t actually answer the question at hand.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, ::Do you want to go back? To wherever you came from?::

The snake bobbed its head, ::Yess.::

::Okay. Uh. Give me a bit. I don’t know how I brought you here, exactly,:: He glanced back at the shadows. The only one left was the tall one. It stared at him, unmoving and unblinking.

Harry perked up and looked back at the shadow snake, ::Go back over into the dark. I’ll try to imagine you going back::

The snake flicked its tongue once before turning and leaving. Harry watched it nearly disappear into the darkness. He then imagined it fading away into it. To his surprise, it worked. The spindly one still stood. It cocked its head to the side in an unnerving manner, then strode away into the unseen.

Harry only pondered this for a few moments before he heard the man ask, “What was all that hissing you were doing under your breath, kid? Sounded like a barrel of angry snakes!”

“Oh! Um, sorry, I was talking to myself. Sorry if I was annoying,” Harry quickly said. He didn’t want the man to know how freakish he was.

The man hummed and turned back to the empty road. Apparently he believed the rubbish lie. What sort of muttering sounds like hissing? And wait, he was hissing? It just sounded like regular, slightly slurred English to him. He supposed it made some semblance of sense, since the snake had told him that all snakes could speak.

The man began, “So, you have a reason for running off?”

Harry was startled by this. People didn’t ever ask him about his reasons. “My relatives are mean to me, I guess,” He said timidly, “I didn’t like it.”

The man turned back and fixed his eyes on him much more intently than before. Harry could now see that his eyes were a dark chocolate color, almost black. 

The man spoke slowly, “And… exactly how mean would you say _mean_ is?”

Harry didn’t catch this caution and plowed on ahead, “They never let me do grownup stuff like Dudley.”

“And Dudley is?” he prompted again.

“My cousin. He's only a little bit older,” He responded, now more at ease with speaking to the man. He actually listened to him.

The man nodded, “Ah. So what do you mean by ‘grownup stuff’?”

A lone car drove past. One of the headlights was out. They paused to watch it leave their view. The sound of the tires on the wet road continued long after the vehicle had moved out of view.

“Oh, you know. Getting fun things and getting a big room. Oh! And lots of food!” Harry chirped, suddenly reminded of his growling stomach.

Now, the man on the side of the road, in the dead of night, talking to a runaway child had a really bad feeling about all of this.

“You uh. You get enough to eat?” He said, noting the size of the child across from him. He also noticed that the clothes he was wearing were much too large.

“My relatives say I get _too_ much…” Harry hung his head.

The man’s eyes widened slightly, though his face stayed relatively impassive.

He said, glancing around in the dark, “You know, kid, I’m starting to get the feeling I should contact the authorities.”

Harry jerked to attention, “No! Please don’t! They’ll send me right back!”

This man was not the most legally responsible man one could meet. He certainly had a good moral compass, but it didn’t always point in the same direction as the law. Add in a healthy(?) dose of distrust for the government and you get a man who is about to let this child run off.

“That… could have some truth to it, I won’t lie. Well, just make sure you stay safe or whatever. I don’t really want to find an article in the news next week about your mutilated corpse,” The man drawled, starting to walk away, down the direction Harry had come.

Harry gulped a bit at the imagery. The man came to an impulsive decision at the same time.

The man then stopped and turned to Harry again, pulling some objects out of a pocket, “Ahh, what the hell. Here kid. Have my spare zippo. And the hairspray I still keep on me for God-knows-what reason. Put ‘em together and you have one hell of a deterrent.” He shook the aerosol can a bit and put the zippo in front of it, pointing it down the road. He flicked the wheel once, twice, and on the third a small flame came forth. He then grinned a bit for the first time and pushed the aerosol can’s top. _FWOOSH!_ A bursting torrent of fire made it out a few feet. It stopped the second he released the top and pulled the can back in a swift motion.

He tossed them to Harry, who was still gaping. He scrambled to catch them. What was happening?

“I’ll even throw in a knife, for good luck. I was in your kind of situation once. Comes in handy, on occasion,” He pulled out a well-made knife with a foldable blade, “I’d been wanting to get a new one for a while, anyways. If you make it a few months, try to find me again. Maybe I can show you the ropes.”

“But wait! What’s your name, sir?” Harry stood and asked, almost frantically. How was he going to find this man without his name?

“Think of that little tidbit as incentive,” he said, striding away. His footsteps faded as fast as his form. The mist continued to fall.

“THANKS!” Harry cupped a hand at his mouth and yelled in his direction, though he could no longer see him.

Now, having absolutely no idea where to go next, Harry scanned the darkness. Were those buildings in the dark? He took a step toward them. Then another. They didn’t seem to be changing, as a hallucination might do, so he started toward them with a purpose.

He stepped on what sounded like gravel. He looked down briefly, but saw no tell-tale light coloring of the little stones.

Suddenly, he pitched forward, having nothing to plant his feet upon, and was swallowed by the silky sheets of the night.

* * *

When Harry came to, he noticed one thing almost immediately: he could see just fine now, but everything was still strangely greyscale.

The buildings he had seen earlier sprawled endlessly in all directions. Most looked to be made of black obsidian, but a few were of other dark stones. They were chaotically structured, with streets zigzagging and buildings seeming as though addition after addition had been built onto them. Many were arched oddly, all pointing one way. Most stretched upwards into a haze above and likely even further.

It was so quiet that Harry’s heartbeat might deafen him.

He whipped around, searching for the streetlights. But nothing was in sight. Just the same black and grey buildings. He sprinted in a direction unknown, passing structures and following winding paths between them. He stopped. It was hopeless.

Harry clutched at his head in panic, sinking to his knees. He would starve here. Or rather, he would die of dehydration first. He saw no sign of moisture at all. Just rock. Always rock. He screamed in frustration and terror. 

The stones screamed back. 

They echoed it, warped it, and amplified it. It sounded, by the end, like a choir of burning animals. Torment was palpable in the screams.

It got far too loud to keep his ears unprotected. He covered them as well as he could and curled on the ground. In a strange way, this made sense. This must be Hell. Eternal torment. However, eternity must not be too terribly long. Because he was sure that the ringing in his head would kill him shortly.

* * *

Upon waking again, which was getting old, Harry still heard the ghost of the echoing screams. Was it in his mind? Had it flowed wave-like into another part of this place? He cracked his eyes open. The lighting had not changed. Clearly, there was no light cycle here.

There was nothing to do but wander and hope to find an exit, he supposed. Staying in one place would only guarantee death. So, that is what he did. He lazily followed the paths between the shiny black. These buildings only had windows up very high. He really wanted to know what the insides looked like, but it seemed it was out of the question.

He walked his poor feet raw, then flopped by a smooth, short building.

Strange. He wasn’t hungry at all. Or thirsty. How long had it been? Was it only an hour? Was it a day? A week? Something was wrong here. He had no concept of time. Had this place killed time itself? Had _he_ killed time? He hadn’t meant to!

A little snake came out of a crack in the glass. It was not comprised of shadow, but of glistening deep onyx scales. Its eyes were a blinding white this time. Harry scrambled toward it from his place on the ground.

::Oh god, iss that you? From earlier?:: he asked desperately.

It looked startled, head held tensely reared back. It slowly relaxed when he spoke, ::It iss you, the sstrange human!::

Then it paused and came closer, tongue flickering wildly, ::Or maybe not human? You ssmell Wrong-like.::

Having no idea how to take that, Harry chose not to be offended and asked, ::Wrong? How sso?::

::Humans do not ssmell like they belong here. Here in the Wrong,:: it explained matter-of-factly.

Harry made the mental leap that this place was called the Wrong. At least, by the little snake.

Harry glanced around, ::Are you the only other thing here? Itss sso quiet…::

::No, definitely not, ssilly Wrongling,:: it yawned its jaws open, maneuvering its split jaws in a hypnotic fashion, ::We do not sspeak aloud, here. It will make the Sstone too loud. You were the one that did it last time, I think.::

Harry felt embarrassed, even though it probably shouldn’t be all that embarrassing, ::Yess, ssorry.::

The stones were hissing. With his attention back on them, he noticed that they were definitely getting louder. It seemed that they distorted it too much for him to understand, though. The snake seemed to finally take notice as well. It lowered its head to the ground and sat still, listening to the vibrations.

::We musst sstop. We will lead ssomething to uss,:: it said gravely.

::Oh. Okay. What, though?:: he said, much quieter.

::They have no name… Nothing good…:: This was said so quietly that he barely heard it.

The snake started to slither down a pathway that Harry had not been down. It stopped and looked at him. He felt a sudden strong urge to follow it. So he did. It lead him for a while to a marble building that stood out for no apparent reason. It looked the same as the others, but it just seemed different.

Ah. It had a door.

::You have been wanting to go back thiss whole time, Wrongling. Thiss iss the way back.::

Oh. Oh thank god! He nearly shouted in joy, but remembered not to at the last moment.

The snake felt amused.

::Thank you, sso much,:: he said to it, ::I might come back if I can?::

He said this like a question. Was he allowed back here? Should he _want_ to come back?

It simply nodded its head and watched him. Harry guessed it was waiting to make sure he made it back. He put his hand on the smooth rim of the doorway. It felt cold, but nothing else.

Harry launched himself through it and—

* * *

He slammed chest-first onto gravel. His hands were full of little stones digging into the skin. He quickly stood up and brushed the pebbles off of himself. A few were still stuck in his hands. He plucked them out, checking if they had broken skin. They had not, surprisingly.

It was still dark. How long had he been gone? He looked up at the moon. It… was still a crescent. The same crescent. Unless he had been gone for a full lunar month, it was the same day. Had he aged in there? Probably not, since he didn’t need to eat. 

Right?

But Harry found it funny that the Wrong was called the Wrong, since it was here that didn’t feel right.

* * *

Harry was almost eleven. He had spent all of his time going back and forth from the Wrong, avoiding starvation and well-meaning people. And the odd… not-so-well-meaning person. He spent what was probably years upon years learning things in the comfort of the timeless space. He had no need to worry about anything, it seemed, as long as he stayed silent. He never came across the snake, or anything else for that matter, again. The Wrong was always empty and bleak. It made for a good place to read, though.

Now, the Wrong had some strange rules and limits to it that Harry was sure he hadn’t completely figured out. He could only ever manage to slip through the dark in the same place as he had first done so. He couldn’t do it in the light of day, because there were no shadows to fall through. He could also only leave the Wrong through the one door, and yet whenever he entered the Wrong, he would be in the same place _away_ from the door. Another upside of the Wrong was that he instinctively knew the way to the door now that he had been there once. And every time he went to it from his starting point, the path seemed to get one building shorter. He only started counting once he took notice of difference, though.

He also regularly looked for the man that gave him the knife and makeshift flamespitter. Every night, he went to the curb and loitered there. He would think that the man would at least come occasionally, but so far it seemed like maybe the man was gone for good. Harry wondered if something had happened to him. He did act rather… sketchy.

An owl of all things came to him as he sat by the curb one night that may have been his birthday. It was a very pretty spectacled owl that alighted a few feet from him in the grass. Harry tried his best not to move, since it almost definitely didn’t know he was there.

But then it swiveled its head and stared him right in the eyes. That ruled out not knowing he was there, then. It held out a leg, insistent on… something. He was beginning to fear it was sick or injured. But then Harry saw something tied to its leg. He cautiously went to take it off, fearful of panicked retaliation. The owl stayed perfectly still as he took it and unwound what looked like twine. It was a letter on a sheet of parchment. He couldn’t actually read it in the low light.

“Um. I cannot read this,” he said to the owl. Which really should show just how his mental state was faring.

It just screeched at him and turned its head fluidly to look at a streetlight. It then looked back at him again with contempt. It probably thought him and his pathetic eyes to be inferior. Harry secretly agreed.

Now Harry felt rather stupid, looking at the light only a few meters away. He got up from his seat and walked to the light. Once he could read it well enough, he noticed that it had definitely been written with a feather pen. Who used feather pens anymore? Actually, more importantly, who used an _owl_ to deliver letters? Surely there was a more efficient way to deliver mail than training nocturnal birds of prey. 

It had no address aside from “Mr. H. Potter”. It was probably rather difficult to address a letter to the Wrong, he mused. He settled himself and began to read: **  
**

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall,_

_Deputy Headmistress_

Well then. _What the bloody hell did any of that even mean?!_ And they wanted him to send an owl _back_ to them? With what bird? WITH WHAT PAPER?!

But perhaps he could just send it with the owl that was still staring at him from the place it had landed. Would it be of terribly bad taste to scratch out his response on the back of the letter? Probably, but he’d do it anyway. Harry did keep a ballpoint pen on him. He found a ridiculous number of them lying in the road, half used, so he would just collect the best and keep them for himself.

He pulled out the pen and began to badly write, using his hand behind the parchment. He pitied the person that had to try to decipher his chicken scratch.

_To whomever it may concern,_

_I do not understand the majority of this letter. If this is truly real and not an elaborate joke, I regret to say I will be needing some form of assistance._

_However, I do still accept, as I quite honestly have nothing better to do._

_Harry Potter_

Perhaps a bit too condescending, but it was rather written in stone, now. Besides, was he supposed to just believe this without question? It was a little insulting to think that the people in charge of this school expected him to be so… thoughtless and gullible. 

He walked back to the owl and gently held the parchment to its beak. It snatched it alarmingly fast and took off immediately. Harry stared at its lack of fanfare.

“Well, now what?” he asked the darkness.

Luckily, it did not respond. Harry plopped himself back on the curb and contemplated his life yet again. But this time, he also had a little souvenir that detailed imaginary school supplies.

* * *

Harry was in the middle of a food heist when an absolutely _gargantuan_ man carrying a pink umbrella yelled his name in a friendly tone, “Harry! It _is_ yeh! Yeh look a lot different than I were expectin’! Let’s get yeh some school supplies, yeah?”

“Wha? Buh- huh?!” Harry spluttered intelligently.

The man laughed and explained, “Yeh asked for help, Harry! I can’ believe yer so far in the dark about this all, but I’m mighty glad to help.”

Harry finally put two and two together. This man was from the strange school that had sent him a letter via owl. In his defence, it had technically been a pretty long time for him since he sent that letter. “Oh. Sorry, I had forgotten about that…” he admitted, then paused before continuing, “And, uh, who are you?”

“Oh! I’m Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper o’ Keys an' Grounds at Hogwarts. Most call me Hagrid,” the man distractedly rattled off.

Harry smiled at him shakily and said, “Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Hagrid, sir.”

“Ah, none o’ that ‘sir’ business, Harry,” Hagrid chuckled.

Harry breathed a quiet sigh of relief. This man wouldn’t be an issue. Abandoning his plots, which really hadn’t been terribly far along, Harry put his attention fully on the representative for the strange school. 

“Well, I guess we had better get going, then. Daylight is waning, as it _is_ the late afternoon,” Harry said, fully aware that his speech pattern was badly out of place. He knew it came from the lack of conversation and the many, many books he had read. It just… seemed odd, even to him. He couldn’t imagine what others thought of it.

Hagrid clapped his shoulder, making him stumble, “Come along! I’ll show yeh Diagon Alley.” He then started off, leading Harry on the strangest path he had ever taken. And that was saying something. They ended up in London by the end of it.

Hagrid eventually stopped in front of a pub-type building and pointed his umbrella at it, saying, “An’ here we are!” Harry considered his expression carefully. He was definitely not lying. He seemed far too proud of this declaration for that. No, Hagrid thought that this was an alley.

“Hagrid? This is a pub. It is not even called Diagon Alley,” Harry said carefully.

The man scratched his chin, almost embarrassed, “Ah, no, this is the way _in._ ”

What.

Hagrid just walked right into the building before Harry could ask any more questions. He sighed dramatically and followed yet again, still entirely lost in all regards. When he entered, he felt an odd chill wash over him that was there one moment and gone the next. He turned briefly and found nothing there.

“Harry! This is Tom, the barkeep here at the Leaky Cauldron.”

No later than a second after he said this, the old man behind the counter lit up, “Harry? Could it be… Harry Potter?”

Harry blinked and, in a lapse of filtration, said, “Well, yes, it could be.” He immediately berated himself for this, but the man was talking again.

“Oh, Merlin. What an honor! Thank you so much, Mr. Potter!” The man seemed very much unfazed.

“Ah, you are welcome?” He squeaked out, eyes shiftily looking for an escape route.

The man nearly tripped over himself trying to rush out from behind the bar. Harry was worried he would break something. He then grasped Harry’s hand, tears glistening in his eyes.

“Welcome back. Welcome back,” he whispered, overcome by emotion.

Harry let out a nervous titter and tried to back away. What the bloody hell was going on?! Other people had started to approach, also gibbering on about how _thankful_ they were and what an amazing experience it was.

Finally, Hagrid stepped in, “Now everyone, leave poor Harry be. We’re on Hogwarts business.” Thank God. Hagrid was his new favorite person. Had he ever had a favorite person before? No, but those details were irrelevant.

Hagrid steered him by the shoulder to a barren courtyard. He walked to a brick wall, muttering. He stood straight suddenly and turned to Harry, “Right then! Stand back, Harry.”

He did so hastily. Whatever was going on seemed to often be dangerous. Actually, he really didn’t question it all as much as he should have. Hagrid seemed to assume he knew a lot more than he actually did. Which was absolutely nothing, barring the Wrong. And he’d never before seen another soul in the Wrong, so his wild guess was that he managed to be abnormal amongst the abnormals. Hagrid tapped out a pattern with his umbrella.

Then the wall just opened up.

* * *

Harry stood still in amazement. The alley that was now in full view was bustling with people wearing robes and carrying unidentifiable objects. Shops selling wild wares lined the road. Harry stared at each, trying to memorize everything for… later use. Yes.

Hagrid began to finally explain something, “First we go to Gringott’s, the goblin-run bank. Ye’d be mad to cross ‘em, so they fit the job perfectly.”

 _Goblins?_ Ah yes, of course. Let’s just throw that out there with no other information, shall we, Harry thought angrily. He assumed they must be pretty ferocious for Hagrid to say that about them. Could they also be kind? He sure hoped so.

As they walked toward a very large building, Harry took the time to observe the people themselves a bit more. They mainly stuck to family groups as they wandered, it seemed. The odd older child would be accompanied by others that were definitely not related, though.

Then they arrived at the doors of the bank. A short, humanoid creature that Harry assumed to be a goblin was stationed by the door. He tried his best not to stare. A large engraved sign sat above the second pair of doors, reading:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

Harry thought he might like these goblins after all.

Unfortunately, with Hagrid there, he couldn’t really start picking apart the bank for himself. He just stepped back and let him do what he was supposed to.

“I’m here to take a bit o’ money outta Harry Potter’s vault,” Hagrid told the teller behind the desk.

Harry busied himself by looking around the interior. There were a few other people who were also going about their business.

The goblin scowled and asked, “And do you have Mr. Potter’s key?”

Hagrid patted his pocket, “O' course I do, let me get it for yeh.” He then began to search his person for this ‘key’. Harry decided that this was probably his chance to ask some real questions. He hesitantly stepped forward.

“Sir? May I ask you a question, if it would not trouble you?” Harry asked, as politely as he could manage. He never was very good at wording things, so he just had to hope that he was doing it right.

The goblin turned, attention now on him. Before, he had hardly glanced at Harry. “I am called Griphook, Mr. Potter,” he sneered, as though Harry was missing a particularly important piece of information. And he probably was, “And yes, you may, I suppose.”

Fantastic! Now what to ask? Maybe something about how money functioned here? Yes, that worked.

“Is there a way that I can have myself fully acquainted with the way that economics functions here before my schooling starts, Griphook, sir? I really would rather understand before I land myself in debt within two months flat…” he trailed off, sneaking a look at Griphook’s expression. He did not seem to have gained any animosity. Actually, his glare might have lost a bit of its hard edge.

Then, Griphook’s mouth twisted suddenly into a snarl. It didn’t reach his eyes or brows, though, making it seem more like a smile. He didn’t know enough about goblin culture to decide on which it was, so he would simply tread carefully.

“Why, yes, there is such a way. We have a pamphlet here for muggleborns and the like…” his grin-snarl sharpened, “For a price, that is.”

Muggle-born? That sounded… mildly offensive. In any case, he still had no idea how wizarding money even functioned. Harry glanced away to Hagrid, who seemed to have found the key and was waiting for him to finish. 

He hesitated, then questioned, “...What kind of price?”

“Oh, only a Galleon.”

Harry looked briefly to Hagrid. As his face didn’t immediately twist up in outrage, Harry could assume with relative safety that it wasn’t overpriced.

“Alright, then. Deal,” Harry said with sudden confidence. He was on his way to collecting information in this new world. Harry tuned everything else out as he buried himself in the pamphlet.

* * *

“We’ve got to get yeh fitted for yer school robes now, Harry,” Hagrid said, leading him as he followed blindly yet again. He didn't know if there was a rhyme or reason for the order of the stops.

‘Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions’ was apparently their next stop. Hagrid left, telling him he had a few errands to run. Harry was to stay by the door if he finished early. Harry entered shyly, looking around for the owner. Or at least an employee.

“Ah! Hello, welcome! Here for school robes, I’d imagine?” A woman suddenly appeared in his peripherals, smiling amiably.

He jumped a bit despite himself. One would really think he’d have more awareness. He ducked his head, speaking softly, “Yes, I am. I… do not actually know how this works, per se.”

“That’s no problem at all, dear,” she chuckled, “just stand still and let the magic do its work!”

Several measuring tapes floated to him, apparently taking his measurements. He stared at them in badly disguised wonder.

A platinum blond boy a little ways away from him scoffed, “A _muggleborn_ ,” he spat, like that was not precisely the word he wanted to use, “Figures.”

Harry turned his head to look him dead in the eyes. The boy blanched ever so slightly, blinking in apparent surprise. Harry guessed he didn’t expect direct confrontation. While not what Harry did best, confrontation could be used to throw people off. A good stare down might even stop a person from following another in the dark.

Harry didn’t actually know if he fit the term, but he still felt annoyed, “Even if I _was_ , what does it matter to the likes of _you_?” He sneered this out as best he could, trying to emulate the same sense of superiority. At this point, he was just trying to get the boy as far off balance as possible. It was kind of fun to mess with people, Harry decided.

The blond spluttered, “Wha? _Me?_ ”

Harry rolled his eyes, internally laughing, “Yes, you. Who else could I be speaking to.”

The boy shook his head in bewilderment. Then he shifted tactics very suddenly, as if only then noticing how far behind he was getting, “Sorry, I’m Draco Malfoy, of course.”

“Of course,” Harry agreed, definitely lost.

Draco Malfoy stuck out a hand for him to shake. Harry weighed the pros and cons of declining. Declining would just upset him. He settled on accepting. He grasped his hand and firmly shook it, like he’d seen in movies. Something about ‘the handshake makes the man’? Or maybe it was something else that was strange and entirely stupid. He couldn’t quite remember.

“Harry Potter,” he stated casually.

Malfoy froze mid-handshake. He then retracted his hand, staring at it in betrayal. He wasn’t quite expecting _that_ reaction, but it was entertaining nonetheless. He deadpanned, “What.”

Harry found this immensely funny. He hadn’t had a good laugh in a very long time. Not even an internal one such as this. “Harry Potter,” he repeated, “of course.

The boy opened his mouth, then closed it. He huffed and turned away. It looked like he was trying to give Harry the silent treatment. Harry snickered and looked back to the tapes. They finished whatever it was that floating tapes did and then whisked themselves away.

* * *

Now with his new robes and a new… acquaintance, Harry poked his head out the door to look for Hagrid. And there he was, with a large, beautiful snowy owl in a wooden cage. It peered at him with an eerie intelligence in its amber gaze.

“Oh, wow," was all he could say.


	2. An Owl is Silence's Closest Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry goes on the shopping trip(tm) and then finds a snail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, anybody, how does Hagrid's accent work

Harry stared at the beautiful bird. It stared back at him with a beautiful golden gaze. He had never seen a snowy owl before. He had heard that they could very rarely be found during the winter, and had always secretly hoped to see one.

“She’s fer yeh, Harry. Think of her as a birthday gift o’ sorts. A dead useful one at that, eh?” Hagrid smiled at him, clearly pleased that he liked the owl so much.

“Wow,” he breathed again. He hadn’t ever received a birthday gift before. Unless he counted the knife, which… was not actually given to him near his birthday at all. So he would not be counting the knife.

Hagrid held the cage out to him, “Here, take her.”

He took the cage very carefully, afraid to jostle the bird. She didn’t seem particularly concerned, however, easing his fears a bit. He slowly spun it around to peer at her. Her only response to this was a shiver of some type that puffed her feathers up slightly. He poked a finger through the cage and smoothed a few down, avoiding her beak just in case. “Hello there,” Harry whispered to her.

She looked at him and chirped a very high pitched noise. It kind of hurt his ears since he was so close to her.  “Do you have a name?” he pondered. The owl just continued to inspect him, likely wondering why he was talking to her. She seemed smart enough to wonder such things.

Hagrid answered for her, “No, she hasn’t a name yet. Ye’ve got to give her one.”

Harry was at a loss as to what to name her. He’d figure it out later, he thought. He said to Hagrid, “Thank you, so very much. She is beautiful.”

“Ah, it were nothing. Every wizard needs himself an owl, in me opinion,” Hagrid brushed off his thanks. Was that insulting? He had no clue. But it definitely was not nothing to him.

Hagrid then pulled a piece of parchment from his coat and unrolled it. It seemed to be a copy of the nonsense—or so he thought it to be—list that came with the original acceptance letter. Hagrid handed it to him, and Harry took it on reflex. **  
**

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

  1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
  2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
  3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
  4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)



Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set of glass or crystal phials

1 telescope set

1 brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS **  
**

Hagrid began walking again. It was rather tiring to have to follow him around, as his stride was easily two or three times Harry’s. He gave one last glance to where the boy had still been, then started off after Hagrid.  “Here’s the rest o’ the equipment yeh’ll be needin’,” Hagrid told him, “Follow me an’ we’ll have yeh set in no time.”

Harry nodded and began to trail further and further behind, peering into shops and staring at oddities. Then they arrived at an offshoot of the street. Harry noticed that Hagrid was eyeing up a ‘Magical Menagerie’ and decidedly not paying any attention to him. He scooted closer to the opening of the offshoot. 

A strange, very old sign shaped like a pointing arm declared it to be named ‘Knockturn Alley’. The alley was disproportionately dark compared to Diagon. It was also very skinny and winding. It reminded him slightly of the Wrong. Something felt… interesting about this place. He took a few more steps and found a singular person. They were dressed in a dark, hooded robe and hurrying along further down. Harry wasn’t quite sure it would be safe to follow.

A large hand was suddenly gripping his shoulder and pulling him back. Harry yelped, but was silenced by a panicked Hagrid, “HARRY! Yeh can’t be wanderin’ places such as these. Knockturn’s fulla dark magic an’ creatures.”

“Dark… creatures?,” he inquired, fully aware that it shouldn’t have been his main takeaway.

Hagrid kept pulling him away until they were back in the light of Diagon, “Aye, like vampires, werewolves, an’ hags! They’d love to get their claws in yeh, Harry. Dealin’ with ‘em’s tricky business.”

Now, Harry knew he should logically be concerned and afraid. But really, it just made him even more curious. They couldn’t possibly be any worse than the things he’d encountered. But letting Hagrid realize his fascination would be an easy way to acquire a lifelong babysitter.

He stuttered out, “O-oh. Okay, Hagrid. I did not know.”

Hagrid slumped and breathed a sigh, “I know that, Harry. Yeh didn’t mean anythin’ by it. Yeh jus’ near gave me a heart attack!”

“Sorry, Hagrid, really. I will not ever go there again,” Harry hung his head for effect. He had no need to cross his fingers, as he really would avoid going ‘there’. ‘There’ being the random cobblestone he had stepped upon near the entrance.

He knew it was dirty, and most likely plain incorrect, but it worked. Kind of.

* * *

After a lot of supplies that made little to no sense to Harry, they were off to the wand store to get a wand. He forgot the name of the place. Whoops. Probably tuned it out with the rest of it all. He just really wanted to have everything in order so he could study it himself in the Wrong. No use trying to get understandable information out of Hagrid, it seemed.

Well. He probably  _ could  _ be trying a little harder, but he was just going to procrastinate anyway. It wasn’t like he had a time restriction.

They were at Ollivander’s very suddenly. It probably wasn’t actually very sudden, but Harry only noticed just then. He should… definitely get out of his head a bit.

An old man softly greeted them from out of absolutely nowhere. And Harry knew he’d been paying attention that time. “Good afternoon,” he said with a strange, knowing smile. His eyes saw too much. Harry didn’t like it. “Hello…” he said suspiciously.

The man didn’t care. He looked into Harry’s eyes with his unnerving, wide pale eyes, “Harry Potter. Yes, ah yes. I knew I’d be seeing you.”

That was alarming. Harry officially hated this situation. Was this man dangerous? Insane? Just plain weird? He had too little intel and he was not happy about it.

“Your eyes. Rather like your mothers, though perhaps a bit brighter. I remember the day she first entered for her own wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. A good wand for charms,” the man rattled off, “Your father, however, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches long, pliable. A little more power and perfect for transfiguration.”

Harry was thoroughly confused, but he did like learning more about his parents that everyone seemed to know but him. Even if it was just odd details such as these.

“Ah, I say  _ favored _ , but I do mean  _ was chosen by _ , of course.”

Again with the ‘of course’s. Apparently he was far more out of his depth than he should be. Lovely.

“And… this,” the man was suddenly very close to Harry, touching his scar, “I’m very sorry to say I sold the wand that made it.”  This was not fun. Harry wanted to go home. Was it too late to reject the letter? Probably. Maybe he could just disappear forever. It sure sounded appealing.

“Thirteen-and-a-half inches,” the man muttered on, “Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going to be used for..."

Harry just sort of awkwardly stood there, waiting for the man to finish. Then he spun on a dime and brightened considerably, “Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! Very nice to see you. Oak, sixteen inches, bendy, wasn't it?"

“Yes it was, sir,” Hagrid said, seeming slightly uncomfortable.

‘Was’? What had happened to it?

Mr. Ollivander looked Hagrid dead in the eyes, “But I suppose they snapped it when you were expelled, yes?”

Oh.

“Er, yes, but I’ve still got the pieces,” Hagrid responded, clearly happy about it. Perhaps it was of sentimental value, then?

Ollivander looked right into Hagrid’s soul as he slowly said, “But you never use them, yes?”

Hagrid backpedaled quickly, spluttering out a “No! O’ course not, sir!”

But Harry noticed his eyes briefly flicker to the umbrella held in his hand. He tightened his grip on it and then shifted it behind him slightly. Very subtle, Hagrid, Harry thought sarcastically. But hey, now he knew that the man couldn’t keep a secret to save his soul.

The wandmaker gave him a disapproving look, but didn’t actually comment on it. Hagrid seemed relieved by this. Harry was pretending very badly that he wasn’t eavesdropping by staring at random objects in the room. But the objects actually ended up being interesting, and he found himself goggling at differently shaped ornate sticks.

“On to you, then, Mr. Potter,” the man suddenly addressed him. He began rummaging through various drawers of wands.

Harry jumped a bit and said, “Oh! Um, yes, I suppose?”

The man then handed him one of the wands. Harry simply stared at it, utterly bewildered. Ollivander prompted him, “Give it a swish and a flick.”

He picked up his hand and waved it around oddly. He wasn’t quite sure what constituted as a swish or flick. Something felt vaguely wrong about it, but nothing actually happened. Then the man had suddenly snatched it back, muttering, “No, no, that isn’t it.” He just as quickly handed him another, stating it’s compositing for… some reason he wasn’t aware of. Also, why did it matter how long or bendable the piece of wood was? He repeated his clumsy and quite frankly embarrassing waving. This time, he felt an immediate wave of nausea. Again, nothing outwardly happened.

“Well. That was clearly the wrong direction to go,” the wandmaker said, looking the wand over. He plucked it from Harry’s loose grip and replaced it. This one was darker in color and was short compared to the others. It felt like absolutely nothing at all. A simple stick in his grasp. He wasn’t terribly hopeful with that first impression, but waved it about anyway. 

Predictably, nothing happened.

“Hm. A tricky customer,” Ollivander scratched his chin, “Now… I wonder…”

Harry was mildly concerned by this. Leave it to him to throw a seasoned tradesman off by simply existing. The man disappeared into a back room. Harry uncomfortably shifted, looking to Hagrid. The man looked intrigued and smiled encouragingly at him. He tried to muster up a smile back, but it most likely looked pained.

When Ollivander returned, he held a long case that Harry assumed contained a wand. He carefully opened the top, presenting Harry with a light colored wand. “Try this one.”

Harry picked it up carefully. He wasn’t going to be the reason this carefully stored wand had been broken. As his fingers closed around it, he noticed that it felt a bit tingly and warm. He waved it just like the others, cringing in anticipation of something bad happening.

A startling mess of sparks flew out of its tip. They landed on the ground, still smoldering. He hastily stamped them out before stopping to wonder how he had just conjured fire without a source. Unless he turned the air into a flammable source? But then how did it heat up so quickly? He then noticed the way Ollivander was looking at him. 

“Curious,” the man said ominously, “Very curious. This is a beech wand with a phoenix feather core. In fact, it has a brother from the same donor…” That was kind of interesting. He didn’t know that using pieces from the same source would make wands related. “Its brother has done great things… Terrible, yes, but great nonetheless,” he continued.

“Pardon?” Harry asked, caught off guard yet again. Those wide eyes were fixed upon him, but he did not elaborate.  Well then. Harry looked at the wand in his hand, spinning it to inspect it thoroughly. It really did just look like an unassuming, carved stick.

“Well!” the man cried out, “We’ve done that, then. Seven Galleons, if you please.”

Harry surely had emotional whiplash by now. His eyelids fluttered wildly as he blinked in disbelief. Hagrid, looking understandably perturbed, handed over seven golden coins from the allotment of money they had previously withdrawn from the bank.

“Thank you, sir?” Harry said, sounding more like he was asking than telling. His school teachers would have been so very disappointed.  The shopkeeper simply smiled serenely, as if nothing had ever happened, “Have a nice day, Mr. Potter, Mr. Hagrid.”

Harry began scooting closer to the door, sure that Ollivander meant that to be their cue to leave. Hagrid followed behind him, also in a hurry to exit. “That man always has given me the shivers, yeh know,” Hagrd told him after they were well out of earshot, visibly shuddering. 

Harry asked him, shaken, “Is that  _ normal _ ? And what on God’s green Earth was that “great, yet terrible” business?” Harry hugged himself, somewhat worried about what it could mean for him. He had no idea what was possible in this world. He felt hideously out of his depth and it made him feel like a cornered animal.

Hagrid shook his head, “It, ah, means that You-Know-Who had yer wand’s brother.”

Harry was rather tired of this  _ ‘oh boy, let’s assume Harry Potter always knows what we’re talking about with no prior knowledge’  _ trend. “No, Hagrid, I do  _ not  _ know who,” he ground out snappishly.

Hagrid’s small eyes bugged as they widened very quickly, “Yeh  _ what _ ?”

“I had absolutely no knowledge that this magical half of London even  _ existed _ until you brought me here. I thought I was the only one who could make strange things happen. Why do you seem to think I should know much more?” Harry ranted, finally losing his temper under stress.

“Yeh really haven’t a clue about all this, Harry? Why, yeh were supposed to at least be told  _ somethin’  _ about it!” Hagrid was shocked. It made Harry calm marginally. It seemed like it wasn’t Hagrid's fault.  Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He reopened them and flatly asked, “What happened with this ‘You-Know-Who’ and my scar.”

Hagrid ushered Harry to move along, “I’ll explain on the way back, Harry. Not here.” Hagrid looked around shiftily, checking for… eavesdroppers? Harry was pretty sure his glancing around was attracting more attention than just talking at a normal sound level. In fact, nobody would want to eavesdrop on two people having casual conversation. Oh well.

They headed off in the reverse of their original route. Finally, once they were no longer near the magic-frequented areas, Hagrid began to talk, “When yeh were just a wee babe, You-Know-Who —ah, V-Voldemort, that is, but we don’t speak that name—came an' killed yer parents. He tried to kill yeh, too, but fer some reason he ended up killin’ himself instead!”

That answered his question about his parents, he guessed, but it brought up so many more. Why didn’t they say Mr. Escape From Death’s name? Assuming it  _ was  _ in fact French, anyway. Was it like one of those “speak of the devil and he shall appear” sayings? Or were they all cowards?  Harry decided to ask the most obvious question, “Why was he after me and my parents?”

Hagrid stopped and thought for a bit before responding, “Well, to be real honest, I don’t think anyone knows. Though, he was quite the madman, so maybe he had no reason at all.”

Harry supposed that could be true. But madman? How bad was this man, and what on Earth had he been doing before he was cut down?

They continued in silence until the very end of the journey. The afternoon had long since passed, giving way to dusk and then dark. They were back on the street that Hagrid had originally ambushed him on. Most of the streetlights here were either far too dim or completely out. 

“Should I walk yeh home or somethin’, Harry? It doesn’t look too friendly out there,” Hagrid asked, showing some common sense for once. Except, this was the one time he didn’t actually want him to think too hard about leaving Harry to the night.

“Oh no, I walk through here all the time. It just looks scary,” Harry reasoned, not exactly lying.

Hagrid looked down the street into the dark, “Well, if yeh say so…”

Harry nodded and said, “I do, do not worry. Have a nice night, Hagrid.” Harry collected the cart with his supplies on it and walked off into the darkness without fear, pulling it behind him with one arm. The owl sitting on top gave a questioning hoot, likely finding his actions to be very strange for a human. 

The cart’s wheels were loud on the pebbled pavement, and it jostled the owl a bit too much for his liking. He paused to pick up the cage in his free hand.

When he arrived at his usual destination, something occurred to him: he had no idea if he could safely bring an animal in and out of the Wrong if it hadn’t originally come from the Wrong. He set the cart and cage safely in the grass and went in search of an insect to test it. He knew he’d feel bad if taking an insect to the Wrong hurt it, but he’d feel far worse if the owl got hurt.

He scuffed his shoes in the grass, trying to get something to jump. Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell between a flying stick and a living creature in the poor lighting. He sighed and pulled out his purple flashlight keychain. It was just a silly little plastic toy, but if he put it close enough to the ground, it made enough light to see. Almost immediately, he found a small snail in the dew-covered grass. He gently picked the piece of grass it clung to and held it in his hand.

He then stepped forward into the darkness. He took another step. Then another.  His foot hit nothing and he plunged into the Wrong.

* * *

Harry still didn’t have the skill to avoid landing on everything but his feet, but at least now he didn’t collapse and knock himself unconscious. He sat up and gently uncurled his fist, peering at the snail. It didn’t move.

This wasn’t exactly surprising, though, since it  _ was _ a snail that had just felt the sensation of falling into the Wrong. He kept staring. Eventually, to Harry’s relief, one of its eyestalks poked out of its shell. The other followed quickly. After a short while, it fully stretched out and explored its new surroundings. It didn’t seem stressed at all, anymore. The lower feelers were also out. Snails, in his experience, only kept all of their tentacles out if they didn’t think they’d be attacked.

Harry smiled and carefully closed his hand again, jogging towards the door back to the curb. When he reached it, he stepped through and tumbled out into the grass. He checked the snail again with the keychain. Aside from being irritated by the light. It seemed unbothered by the door. Granted, the door was much more smooth than the raw darkness.

He walked the snail a ways away from his cart and placed it back in the grass. His hand was somewhat slimy now, so he swiped it in the dew.

He grabbed the cart and the owl, stepping toward the darkness again. Upon closer inspection, the owl looked alarmed. She had probably seen him tumbling around perfectly well, being a nocturnal predator.

“Shh, do not worry. I tested it on a snail, and you will be fine,” he soothed, petting her breast feather with one finger stuck through the bars.

She did, in fact, calm down at that. A very clever bird indeed. He clutched her cage to his chest, protecting it from possible damage in his fall. He secured his hold on the cart and then fell again.

* * *

Harry landed on his feet initially, keeping the cart upright. He still had too much momentum, though, and stumbled forward into a full-blown trip. He twisted to land on his shoulder instead of the cage he was holding, grunting on impact. The owl squeaked in surprise at the sudden change in position.

He swiftly stood, holding the cage to his face. “Okay, we need to stay relatively quiet, now,” he whispered to her. The stones were already lightly humming.

The owl puffed up her feathers, swiveling her head this way and that to look at the singing rock.

“Yes, they can get very loud if you make too much noise. But it is okay every once and a while to make sound,” he told her quietly. It was strange to talk to an owl, but she did seem to understand very well. Perhaps she was a magical breed?

He then unlatched the door to the cage and swung it open. The bird tilted her head in a silent question.  Harry said to her, “Go on, you cannot just stay in there forever. Try not to get lost, though. There are not a lot of landmarks to navigate with.”

She walked to the edge of the cage and then swooped out with a muffled flap of her broad, white wings. Harry thought that with an owl’s tapered feathers, they were the perfect bird to fly silently within the Wrong. She circled and danced between the buildings before she very suddenly headed upward. She approached the smoke-like fog and then flew directly into it. Harry was interested to see that she disturbed a bit of fog, revealing what looked like more structures overhead. If only he could ask her what she had seen.

The stones continued to cry, sounding very far off. They were already beginning to quiet themselves.

Harry looked away from the sky and lugged the cart to his favorite place to read and study: a misshapen obsidian building next to a very, very straight one. The misshapen one curved and bent right into the straight, creating a tent-shaped hole between them. The cart made little noise on the way, clearly pulling better on glassy roads than neglected pavement.

He spread his new supplies and books out on the ground, then plopped himself down amongst it all. He had a lot of material to go through, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter but it was between that or waiting a month to post again.  
> Also yes, I changed Harry's wand a bit, what of it?


	3. Expedition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry goes on a shopping spree without supervision where not much happens. Well, kind of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't lie, this is almost all filler. Except there is a bit of plot hidden within.

Harry had finished reading through his newly acquired books. Whether or not he actually  _ understood  _ them was another matter entirely. He had no idea how any of the material could be correct. He had even tried a few spells to no avail.

Firstly, why on Earth did spells only work when directed with mutilated Latin phrases? It couldn’t be that magic could  _ hear _ . What would people have done if Latin had never existed? Secondly, the ingredients for potions that were to be ingested were filled with all sorts of things that should have rendered the slew a rather potent poison. 

Harry decided he would attempt to find his way back to Diagon to purchase some… remediation of sorts. And maybe on the way, he’d happen to end up in that shady Knockturn Alley. 

But first, he really needed to do something about how apparently recognizable he was. It seemed, with the encounters with the pub patrons and the wandmaker, the key identifiable feature was his strange scar. Perhaps a hat? But no, he hadn’t seen a single wizard wearing the sort of hat that would cover his forehead. He’d just stick out all over again. Could he style his hair to cover it?

He turned to one of the black glass surfaces beside him. It didn’t show much color, but it did let him see his reflection well enough for this. Harry ran his finger through his rat’s-nest of hair, attempting to pull the fringe over where he knew the scar to be. No such luck. It just  _ barely _ covered it, and a twitch of his head would have it shifting. 

He mulled the problem over. He certainly did not want to wait for it to grow out before he went on his journey. He only had so many weeks before the start of school. But then, Harry remembered, very faintly, a common problem when he had still lived with his relatives: his aunt would shave his head in an attempt to tame the mop of black hair, only for it to have grown back in its entirety the next day. Could he purposely make it do that? Did he just have to want it hard enough?

So, there Harry sat, thinking,  _ Grow, hair. Do it. Become long. Abracadabra, alakazam.  _ It did not seem to do anything at all. He sighed, feeling foolish.

He reached a hand up and tugged a lock in frustration. His hand seemed to slip. It slipped lower. Harry froze and tugged again. He pulled toward his face and it seemed he had found the secret to making it work. It felt incredibly strange, and Harry stared. There in his fingers was a good twenty-five, maybe thirty centimeters of hair. But now he had to get the rest equally long. Or just pull it out really far and then cut it later.

* * *

After his atrocious hairstyling job, Harry brushed himself off and stood. He checked his reflection once more before heading off. His hair was now more wavy than it was curly, being weighed down by length, and it neatly covered the side of his forehead. 

Harry looked around for his owl, Hedwig. He found the name in the history textbook and the snowy had immediately taken to it.

He was afraid to leave her behind, in case the Wrong just… stopped supporting life or something when he left. Unfortunately, it was rather hard to get her attention to take her along when silence was key. Harry snapped a few times, then waited. He cringed at the echoing clicks that circled him. But sure enough, Hedwig gracefully swooped down from the curtain of fog above. She landed on the stone floor. Her talons clicked very quietly, adding to the fading noise of the Wrong.

He jerked his head in a ‘come, follow’ motion and began to walk to the gate back outside. Hedwig, ever intelligent, followed closely. When he arrived at the doorway, he held his arm out like a falconer. Hedwig alighted on it, gripping his arm through his overcoat tightly. He eyed the large talons warily, then stepped through.

* * *

Harry stumbled upon reentry, causing Hedwig to abandon her perch and take flight. Traitor. 

It was still about three or four in the morning. Harry sighed and plopped himself down to wait.

After a very long and drawn out game of ‘count the number of each color of car that dives by’, he began to walk to the business street he had met Hagrid so that he could retrace his steps from there. Or maybe he could just go straight to London? He remembered that the Leaky Cauldron was on Charing Cross Road so…

Yeah, that was probably better for his time management. He badly bumbled through paying for a ride on the tube with a heaping mound of pocket change. Harry stood awkwardly in the train, avoiding eye contact with the other passengers. One woman looked like she might want to ask him why he was alone, but never actually did. When he arrived in London, he hurried out of the station. 

Unfortunately, he was nowhere he had ever been before. Harry sighed and looked for the most friendly-looking person he could stop to ask for directions. 

A woman with two kids was walking by him, so he held up a hand and called out, “Ma’am? Could I ask you for directions to Charing Cross Road? I seem to be awfully lost at the moment.”

She looked to him and stopped. Out of what was likely instinct, she placed a hand on the oldest child’s shoulder to prevent him from continuing to walk without her. She already held the youngest’s hand in her own.

“Oh! Yes, of course, sweetie. Hold on, I’ll draw you a quick map on something,” she said, smiling. She dug through her handbag and produced a napkin.

“Do you need a pen? I have one,” Harry offered, holding out a blue ball-point. The clip of the cap had been snapped off by its previous owner, and he was still mad about that. It was so close to being a perfect pen.

She took it with a “thank you” and scratched out a rough map for him. She held both the napkin and the pen out to him, “You’ll have to excuse my handwriting, but those are the names of the roads you take to get there.”

Taking the napkin and pocketing the pen, Harry smiled and said, “Thank you so much, ma’am.”

The woman laughed good-naturedly as her youngest tugged on her shirt, impatient. She said to Harry, “No problem, dear. Be safe!”

“I will!” he told her, beginning to walk in the correct direction, holding the map like a pirate measuring his paces. Sure enough, the map was accurate. He ended up on Charing Cross Road with The Leaky Cauldron in view. He removed his glasses and placed them gently in his front pocket. It would hopefully add a layer of protection from anyone who had seen him previously in the pub. Though, now he was about as blind as a mole. A mole born without eyes.

He walked in, feeling the same cool chill as he passed through the door. The man, Tom, was still at the counter. Harry could tell from the height and general shape of the blurry blob. Now to test his disguise.

He approached the man cheerfully, “Hello sir, could you please open the way to Diagon for me?”

Tom looked at him closely, probably wondering what on Earth a wizard child had been doing wandering London alone. But he then nodded and smiled, saying, “Certainly, young man. Follow me.”

Harry tailed him to the wall that Hagrid had opened by tapping. This time, he’d try to remember the pattern. Or maybe that was only allowed for adults? Oh well, it couldn’t hurt to know it anyway. You know, for entirely innocent reasons.

Harry watched intently as the man rapped his wand on the bricks. He thought that he could probably get it at most on the third try, now. Maybe. “Alright then, there you go. Stay out of trouble,” Tom teased mildly.

Harry did a giddy little skip-hop through the threshold, only briefly wondering why everyone seemed to think he was in need of reminders to not wreck havoc. Mainly because that was what he did best, but also because he was distracted by excitement. Harry put his glasses back on. He walked past the two main shops he wanted to enter, the Owl Emporium and the bookstore, in favor of Gringotts. He really hoped he could take money out by himself. Otherwise he’d have to try to get his money converted and he really didn’t have a lot of that to begin with.

Harry entered the building and passed the goblin by the front door. He squinted at Harry. Harry just weakly smiled and continued to the teller’s desk. He did not see Griphook, unfortunately.

The goblin who  _ was  _ there held his head up in attention as Harry approached. His face soon scrunched into a grimace. This time, Harry was certain that it wasn’t a friendly expression. He cleared his throat softly and spoke up, “Sir? May I make a withdrawal?”

“Key?” the goblin inquired simply in return.

“Ah, I do not have one,” he said as his hopes sank. He began to think of alternatives. He sure hoped they could do conversions.

But the goblin lowered his head, looking skeptical for some reason. He said dubiously, “You do not… have one.”

Now Harry was confused. Was he not too young to have a key? Or was it just so stupid of him to have come without one that the goblin was in disbelief? “I… yes?” Harry tried.

The goblin sighed in a very put-upon way before rummaging through a drawer. “Name?” he prompted. Harry glanced around, seeing no other people. Safe enough, then. Surely a bank would be all about confidentiality anyway, right?

“Harry Potter, sir.”

Harry saw the goblin’s eyes widen only minutely, but he could tell he was surprised. He stopped what he was doing, just looking at Harry again for a bit. Then he resumed, but with a newfound vigor. “That’s not proper at all then,” he told Harry, “Give me your hand.”

His hand? Harry hesitantly held out his hand. Before he could even blink, the goblin had grabbed his wrist, pricked him with something, then let go.

Harry yelped like a wounded puppy before weakly glaring at the goblin, “What was that?”

Disdainfully, the goblin sniffed and muttered, “Got to check your identity  _ somehow _ , Mr. Potter. We have much better security than just someone’s  _ word _ .”

“You could have just warned me, sir,” He said quietly, inspecting the wound. Or rather, lack of one. There was no external damage, yet it stung like a wasp.

Harry got no response to that. The goblin said to him, not even looking at him, “Stay here,” then walked into a room out of view. Harry glanced around uncomfortably and shuffled his feet on the hard floor. He glanced around again, looking to the goblin he had passed upon entering. He was looking, slightly intrigued, at Harry. Not expecting that, he turned away.

Then, the teller showed up again. He placed an ornate golden key on the tabletop and slid it to Harry with two fingers pressed to it. “Now, what exactly would you like to remove from your vault?”

Harry distrustfully reached out to take the key. He noticed the goblin seemed amused by his new fear of being stabbed. Harry also needed to think of a reasonable amount of money to carry around to shops

He spoke after successfully taking it without injury, “Is, ah, fifty galleons and a bit of change unreasonable?”

“Not at all, Mr. Potter. You  _ do  _ know how much is in your vault, don’t you?” he asked Harry, squinting.

“What would you say if I said no to that?” Harry winced preemptively. Here he was, sounding stupid again. Lovely.

The goblin only sighed and got up again. He didn’t know if it was in exasperation or in exhaustion. Harry took it that he was collecting the money from his vault for him. He was right. Although, he also returned with a small bag of sorts.

“I don’t believe you’ll be able to carry all of that without an enchanted pouch, so I took it upon myself to get you one,” the goblin grinned? Yeah, that snarl was definitely a grin, “For a small bit of compensation, of course.”

Harry didn’t mind that. It was rather thoughtful, actually, and he assumed with how the goblin had spoken that he had plenty of money to spare. “Thank you,” he said, taking it, “is it all already in there? It is so light!”

“Yes, it has quite a few handy quirks woven into it. Just reach in and you’ll find your coin. Will that be all?” the goblin said.

“Yes, and thank you again,” Harry smiled and started off anew. But then he saw Knockturn Alley again. Harry stopped and stared down it before physically shaking his head. No, not yet. He still had other things to do. But… Did he really want to lug a bunch of books down there?

Before he knew it, he was at its entrance. It was rather enthralling, apparently. Almost like a siren’s call. Wait. Did sirens actually exist??

Harry Potter now stood about as far down the alley as he had gotten when Hagrid found him. This time, he pressed on. Head held high, Harry walked with a purpose he didn’t have. No need to look lost or uncertain in a dark place like this. That would just scream ‘weak and easy pickings’. He descended a flight of stairs in a state of disrepair and —

There were a lot more people than Harry had been expecting. They bustled about, not really taking much time at all to look at items and shops. Harry did his best to emulate that while still inspecting the stores. Unfortunately, nothing really looked like it would be something he’d want to buy. Sure, the shrunken heads were cool, and the various human body parts were grotesquely interesting, but what would he even  _ do  _ with something like that? 

He saw a shop labeled simply: Wizarding Supplies. That sounded… potentially useful. So he entered before he could run out of his very short supply of courage. It was surprisingly well-lit inside, and the woman who worked there immediately called out, “Welcome! Have anything in particular you’re looking for, lad?”

“No, I am just looking right now, but thank you,” Harry said timidly.

The woman’s eyes widened very suddenly, and Harry almost reached up to touch his scar in panic. He froze before she suddenly said, “You’re a lot younger than I first thought, laddie. Should you really be here on your own?”

Harry smiled, likely rather unconvincingly, and replied, “I can handle myself, I promise.” He then turned to the wares and took a good look at them. Most of it was exactly the same as what he had seen in Diagon, but he stumbled across a large, black leather bound book of spells called  _ The Dark Arts _ . It was being sold for nine Galleons, which was rather ridiculous in Harry’s opinion, but he was starved for something new to read. He took it gently and brought it to the front counter.

“Aye, they don’t sell this one in Diagon,” she nodded to him, “But some of these spells aren’t for wee ones such as you.”

Harry dug his hand into his new pouch and produced the nine gold coins needed. He placed them on the counter and said simply, “I do not intend to use these just yet.”

The woman just hummed and tools the coins, “Well, if you say so. Have a nice day, laddie.”

“You too,” he said while subtly fleeing with his prize.

As he continued along, Harry thought it was interesting that not a single creature had attempted to attack him. Actually, he hadn’t even seen a single vampire, werewolf, or hag. Unless they just looked like humans? Maybe that was it.

Deciding there wasn’t much reason to loiter, he made his way back to Diagon for the bookshop and the owl shop. He’d definitely have to come back once he knew the actual uses for all of those items. He held the book to his chest, obscuring the title. Hopefully no one could recognize it by its leather binding or something. It seemed somewhat… contraband-ish.

He beelined for the book store, Flourish and Blott’s. He had been here for a very short time with Hagrid, but hadn’t even been able to step inside. There was a setup of all of the needed schoolbooks for the year right by the entrance. This time, he would be  _ exploring _ . He walked around, eyeing up interesting book after interesting book. He obviously couldn’t buy them all, so it was best to start with the more basic ones.

A certain book called  _ Curses and Counter-Curses  _ caught his attention. He flipped through it swiftly before tucking it in front of the contraband. Another called  _ Wizarding Culture and Customs for Muggleborns _ was also taken. He thought it might be very useful indeed. In that vein, he grabbed one on the legal system titled  _ Essential Laws for Muggleborns to Know _ . Harry was getting a bit tired of this ‘for muggleborns’ repetition, but he supposed it was what he needed whether he liked it or not. He walked up to pay for them. The man at the counter looked up from, ha, a book and smiled.

“What can I do for you?” he asked kindly.

Harry placed his three books on the counter and began digging for his pouch. “I would like to buy these three books, please,” he replied. He carefully kept the black one snug to his chest, yet in view. He didn’t want to look like a shoplifter. Never again.

“Alright, that’ll be eleven Galleons and four Knuts. And, ah…?” The man looked pointedly at his contraband book.

“Oh!” Harry rushed to explain, “I bought this elsewhere.” The man quirked an eyebrow, as if he knew exactly where ‘elsewhere’ was and did not approve. Harry ignored this to the best of his ability and dug out the proper amount. He deposited it into the man’s hand.

“Thank you for your purchases, and have a nice day,” he said, somewhat clipped. Yikes. He’d have to obscure the book better in the future, apparently.

Harry gave a pained smile and nodded before walking out with his head down and four books against his chest. He headed for the Eeylops Owl Emporium, which he’d only really seen from afar. He entered and was immediately greeted with a slew of owl screeches. It was rather abrupt, since it was silent outside the door. Harry wondered how that was done. There were a lot of actual owls near the front (probably to increase sales), but in the back there were more care supplies. 

A sign declared: Owl Treats. Hedwig would probably like some of those, Harry thought to himself. There was a wide array of types, and most had a list of species that generally enjoyed them. He found a pack of relatively expensive ‘Living Lemmings’ that were advertised as animated rodent-shaped-and-flavored treats for snowies. Harry wrinkled his nose at the mental image of them scurrying around, but forced himself to overcome it in favor of Hedwig’s happiness. He took the bag up to the saleswoman and paid for it.

Harry walked out of the Emporium holding the bag like it might bite him. And honestly, it might. He could never tell what strange thing would occur next.

* * *

When he got back ‘home’ to his little place on the curb, he suddenly realized that it was still daytime. He’d have to just stand here with his haul in the middle of nowhere. In full daylight. God, he was going to get the police called on him. He trudged through the grass and to the forest. Glancing around for a safe place to stash everything, he found a large boulder field. Maybe he could find a nice little gap between them that could work.

There wasn’t one big enough for everything. There were, however, several small holes that he stuffed things in, feeling like a squirrel as he then covered them with debris. Now if he could just remember where everything was for an extended period of time, that would be great. At this point, Harry must have been the most patient eleven-year-old to have ever lived. He was constantly sitting around and twiddling his thumbs, waiting for night or day depending on his purposes.

It didn’t help that time only passed  _ outside _ of the Wrong.

After a long day of tossing small stones at bigger ones while languishing on a boulder until the sun went down, Harry was exhausted. It was beginning to get dark, so he collected his items and called for Hedwig with a sharp whistle. She came soaring out of the forest a few minutes later. Harry began to attempt to enter the Wrong, but the world suddenly felt thick like molasses. He pushed on harder, walking forward slowly. His foot sunk into the ground like it was tar. Harry looked down at it, alarmed. Was it not dark enough after all? Since when did the Wrong open partially?

But he slowly sank in with Hedwig, who’s eyes were dilated and feathers puffed. Yeah, she wasn’t happy about this either. But the slow entry allowed him to notice that the curtain between the Wrong and the regular world was freezing cold. He wasn’t even sure how he hadn’t immediately ended up frostbitten.

The sun slipped behind a tree, and then Harry slipped very quickly through. Not expecting this, he fell to the ground and spilled everything he had bought on the stone. The clatter sent the stone clanging metallically. He sighed and gathered it all up. Hedwig was nearby, perfectly balanced, yet still understandably ruffled. Harry unpackaged one of the treats and set it on the ground before hastily retreating. It squeaked and took off around a bend, suddenly acting like a live creature. Hedwig sped off after it and out of sight.

The thing looked like beef jerky molded into the shape of a rodent. Gross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is Hogwarts I swear. No more slow-goings.
> 
> Anyways, I've discovered that I can write during Zoom classes and I guess there goes my GPA.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know, okay? It just happened. But while we're here, I'm going to warn you that I will be seriously projecting my world domination fantasies onto Harry.
> 
> Also since I can't ever write anything else, Harry is aromantic asexual. Sorry, I don't make the rules. I swear if I could understand romance I would try something else but It Never Ends Well When I Try.


End file.
